Woodstock
by ayla darrow
Summary: After meeting a demon who claims to have killed a certain Slayer that Spike met at Woodstock, he retells the tale of his time spent with her. A "fluke" in his life at the time when he had been vicious, Spike is recollecting for the first time in years.
1. Spike

Everyone has their fair share of messing things up and everybody has a bloody awful story they'd rather not tell. Now, I know you wouldn't think this of me. I have brilliant stories from all around the world. My favorite stories used to be about the two Slayers I killed. But here I am, confessing to you lot, that not all my stories end how I would like them to, even if you would have expected me to glorify it in one way or another. However, due to certain events I was forced to recall the events that occurred in August, 1969. A certain demon, who will remain anonymous for the sake of his safety, told me how he had once _bumped off_ a Slayer and the funny thing is, you see, is that he got into her mind and he saw things that he wasn't supposed to see.

I have always been ashamed of Woodstock and how things turned out. It's not every day you hang out with a Slayer and find out the next day, especially if you're a soulless, vicious, Slayer-killing vampire like I was. I would have killed the girl when I first met her if I hadn't been high as a kite when she forced me to spend the night in her van.

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><p><em>Woodstock, 1969<em>

_16__th__ August, evening_

This was brilliant, just brilliant. Ayla had set out to Woodstock to enjoy herself, let loose a little bit and yet she found herself battling vampires left and right and when she wasn't doing that she was getting the easy targets (high as kites) into their tents or vans. It wasn't like it was a complete drag for her, Ayla had always enjoyed the violence and helping others made her feel accomplished and like an important part of the society. Her Watcher, a stuffy English woman in her early thirties, disliked Ayla's enjoyment in slaying. It was her job, not her hobby and she had to do it dutifully and not with pleasure. Yet she had allowed Ayla to go to Woodstock because "_it was the perfect opportunity for slaying._"

"Off you go to bed there," Ayla mumbled as she pushed a blazed flower-lover into a tent. It was already dark and Ayla had a feeling that the vampires weren't going to stop feeding just because it was pouring from above. But Ayla was fixing to cut loose for a little while. After all, she had already staked at least double-digits of Vampires and probably rescued countless innocent hippies from being sucked dry. She had planned this to be her weekend, her only break. But duty called and Ayla was never one to ignore duty, or at least the easier kind of duty. She was just going to try to not see her duty.

But then she had to lay her eyes upon him and that's what brought them together in the first place. He looked like he was "rough around the edges", with bleach blond hair and dressed like he belonged in some sort of underground punk movement rather than at Woodstock. He stood so badly out that Ayla ignored all the other drugged up adolescents. It had only taken her a moment to plump herself down by his side and studied the man closer. He looked older than her by perhaps ten, twelve years and far wiser but he did look a little… Distraught. For some reason, Ayla spent a few minutes by his side, simply staring at him and not daring to move. it wasn't like she feared him and they definitely weren't having any moment of bliss. He was just staring at his hands intensely. Before Ayla managed to convince herself to speak, he beat her to it.

"Do my hands look funny to you too?" For a moment, Ayla just stared at the man, her dark silver eyes wide with surprise. Then she realized that he was being serious and she couldn't help but let out a single titter. "They look normal to me," she commented with an earnest smile on her face, holding down the laugh that was waiting to burst out. Whatever everyone was on, it made them seem ridiculous to Ayla. The man looked back towards his hands and shrugged. "They look weird to me," he mumbled. "Mate," Ayla said, trying to match his accent. "I think that that's the drugs talking. They look fine," she suggested.

"Drugs," he echoed, as if he had had a sudden revelation. "Bloody hell, that git was drugged!" He looked at the girl next to him, who had a rather confused look on her face, and looked for a moment rather sheepish. "I mean, he must have drugged my drink!" Ayla nodded slowly, thinking more about the man's accent than how he had come across the drugs. "England?" she asked after a moment. The man looked at her, seeming rather disinterested. "London. Where are you from? You don't look like you belong here in Woodstock," he asked dryly. It was funny how people on drugs seemed to waver between seeming out of it and seeming fine.

"New York," Ayla answered quickly before her cheeks turned red. "Well, Dublin originally, but I've been in New York since I was a baby," she explained. "Explains the hair," the man replied, touching Ayla's hair while leaning in to look at it more closely. Ayla cleared her throat, obviously disturbed by the man's closeness. "I think we should get you to your tent or van or whatever," she suggested with a wry smile. He looked away from the lock of hair that he clenched in his fist and for the first time in their conversation, their eyes locked. The nice blue color drew Ayla in. The color felt like it was completely new. There was something different about this one, and that was all the more reason for Ayla to protect him.

"I don't got one. I stay with anyone who will have me," he replied. _Or whoever I suck dry._ He thought with a loopy grin on his face. "Stay in mine," Ayla offered quickly, slightly weirded out by the look on his face. But it was her duty to take care of him, at least until she found some vampires to slay. "I have a nice van and the back is pretty snazzy," she promised.

Something she said had apparently been funny, because the man began laughing rather loudly. "Didn't your mummy teach you not to invite a stranger into your van?" the man asked tauntingly, causing Ayla to laugh too, confusing him momentarily. He had no idea about what she had been taught regarding inviting people somewhere. Well, things, in. Most people would never understand and this guy, looking edgy and slightly mischievous, would probably never even consider not inviting someone in.

"Ayla," she introduced herself with an extended hand towards the man. It took him a while to notice because he had resumed staring at his hands in amazement. Eventually he paid her attention long enough to shake her hand. "Name's Spike," he mumbled. For a while he sat there, moving his lips a few times as if he was repeating his name, but Ayla wasn't skilled enough at reading lips to know for sure. "Spike," he finally repeated out loud with a dumbfound expression on his face. "Doesn't seem like a proper name right now… You can call me William."

Ayla, rather tired of the rambling of _Spike_, stood up and pulled him up with her in a rather violent manner. "Bloody hell, you don't have to yank me up so hard," Spiked whined as he rubbed his arm gently. "Women… Sick… Sadistic creatures…" He was mumbling to himself and Ayla, hearing the context of what he was saying decided to shrug it off. She was there to protect this man, not to squabble. She glanced back at the man and smiled slightly. "I think that you look more like a Spike rather than a William."

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><p><strong>AN: **Spike is a little out of character on purpose. Here because he's still experiencing some effects from drinking the blood from a flower-child and later on because of... well, it'll be explained. Oh yeah, so it's like, Spike is telling the story with the help of the information that the demon gave him about the Slayer's memories so it has pretty much all the information needed to get into the two heads.


	2. Fire

It took them a while to fight through the crowd that seemed to have thickened every so much. "Hey, who's playing?" Ayla asked a random girl that seemed absorbed by the music. The girl smiled before replying: "The Who! They've already played Sparks but they still haven't played My Generation!" Ayla nodded in gratitude as she kept on pulling Spike along the van that was now in sight. It was a deep red color that had pretty much begged Ayla to paint on the van and on the sides there were two white stripes on the sides. "Nice color," Spike commented, momentarily coming to reality. "Blood-like." Ayla looked at him and nodded.

"It's symbolic," she said before realizing that she couldn't explain to him how important blood was to her. She was a slayer and killing demons and vampires was her job. It was always about blood, in one way or another. Blood sacrifices, blood to awaken demons or blood to feed on. "For the bloodshed that us humans cause. You know; Vietnam and such." It was a blatant lie, but seeing as they were at Woodstock it wasn't too farfetched that she was anti-war which was ironic, seeing that she was waging a war on the things that most humans chose not to see. For a second Ayla thought she saw disbelief in Spike's eyes but quickly enough he had redirected his attention to his hands again.

"Make yourself at home," Ayla said, opening the back of her can. There was a sort of dark blue rug that covered the floor and walls. There were piles of pillows, blankets and clothes in the van along with a stack of dictionaries in various languages and two bags where she kept her… necessities. It was only a matter of seconds before Spike was face down on the rug and basking in the comfort. Of course, he didn't take his eyes off of his hands. With a slightly amused smile, Ayla sat down in the opening and began to listen intently to the Who.

After a while Ayla began to appreciate Spike's presence. If it hadn't been for him, then she wouldn't have had a chance to stop and enjoy the music. She had been great with timing too- the Who were one of the few bands that she had been itching to hear live. She had listened to records at home but nothing beat the live experience, even if they weren't as good as on the recordings. There was something special about knowing that they were just a short walk away. Suddenly, a rather familiar tune began playing.

_Ever since I was a young boy,  
>I've played the silver ball.<br>From Soho down to Brighton  
>I must have played them all.<br>But I ain't seen nothing like him  
>In any amusement hall<br>That deaf dumb and blind kid  
>Sure plays a mean pin ball!<em>

It was hard for Ayla to contain her joy when they began to play _Pinball Wizard. _In fact, Ayla had risen to her feet and moved towards the side of the van so that she could actually catch a proper glimpse of the band playing. Her mouth moved along accordingly with the words, showing that she knew just about every word of the song. Passersby would randomly shout along with the song while looking at her, making Ayla feel like they were some kind of comrades. For a moment, Ayla paused and pursed her lips. Even though she had been spending most of her time doing her duties, being a Slayer and rescuing people, she wasn't alone like her Watcher had told her that she was. Even if she couldn't have someone close for years to come, she could still connect with people and if she could do that, she really wasn't lonely. They were all there for her, they just didn't know it.

Meanwhile in the van, the effect of the drug—or drugs, were slowly fading away from Spike (although they had already been fading slightly when Ayla first found him.) As his hands became less odd and intriguing, Spike became more interested in his surroundings. It was definitely a comfortable place to sleep in and… Spike took a deep breath and cracked a grin when the smell hit him. The inside of the van smelled like a mixture of peaches, old books and whiskey. It was an unusual mix but yet it was better than the smell of dirt, trees, rocks and bloody crypts that Spike had gotten used to. It was comfortable and smelled nice, something that Spike appreciated. He sat himself up and shook his head, as if he was trying to shake the remainder of the high off.

Reaching for the closest book he was able to grab, Spike looked at the cover curiously. "Icelandic-English dictionary? Who the hell needs to know Icelandic?" he muttered as he slightly ran over the pages. "Vampire…" he mumbled as he turned to the V section. The translation was _blóðsuga._ "Blodsukka?" Spike repeated as he searched the word in Icelandic and the first thing that popped up was simply _blóð_ which meant blood. Now intrigued, he searched for suga but found nothing. Pleased with the translation of vampire he could find, Spike threw the book somewhere into the van, into another pile of books. Even though the effect of the drugs were vanishing, things were still a bit loopy. Nothing looked quite right and there colors… They were about to bust his head out a cigarette from his pocket, he stuck it in his mouth.

"Hey, girl," he called out, bothering to get out of the van. He nearly stumbled and realized that it wasn't just his mind that was effected by the drugs. He found the girl standing, or well, dancing, at the side of the van. "Funny little one aren't you," he commented as Ayla stopped dancing and mouthing the words. Her cheeks turned red enough that Spike could easily see the color change in the dark, and at that moment he wished that he would have waited with feeding until he would have found her. He smirked when an idea came to his mind. He could use her for her van, seduce her and in the morning, he could suck her dry and steal the bloody van. It wasn't like Dru would be waiting for him at any corner and he was feeling a need to… relieve some attention. That bloody madwoman pissed him off royally this time, going off to hunt with another.

"Not funny," Ayla gainsaid with a small pout on her face. She looked at Spike for a moment, taking in the fact that he didn't look as hopeless as he had less than an hour ago. He seemed to have gained most of his mind since she picked him up although she was sure that he was still a bit loopy. But oddly enough, she didn't want him to go. That would void her excuse to get some sleep and kick back a little. "Fire?" he asked, looking at Ayla expectantly, as if he had thought that she would have realized that that was what he had been waiting for.

"Oh! Fire! Yes, I have some, just… in here," Ayla said, running into the van and started rummaging. When the girl had left his sight, Spike noticed writing at the bottom right corner of the door at the end of the van. _Eat. Sleep. Breathe._ He laughed at the words. Simplicity at its best, basic things that every human had to do in order to survive… Properly at least. "Instructions to living?" he asked when the girl returned with a lighter. Ayla looked at the writing before tittering. "More like a motto, or a reminder. I don't always remember to do the first two," she said, walked towards the back of the van, with a smoking Spike following. In silence, he passed her the lighter and the pair sat at on the edge of the van. After a while, the man looked at her and chuckled. "I don't see how one forgets to eat or sleep. It's the breathing part that bothers me." His eyes lingered on her for a moment, wondering whether she would pick up on something. But then she laughed. No, she wasn't anyone special or powerful. Certainly not a demon of any sort. Harmless, just what he wanted.

"You know smoking is bad for you," Ayla said in a playful tone. It was customary for her to make pointless statements that were obvious, simply because she wanted to say something. "You're the one who brought me the lighter, love. Plus I can smell the whiskey in here. A little girl like you shouldn't be drinking stuff like that," he said with a grin. "I should take it all away from you, for your own good. Including the lighter."

"Little? I'm eighteen, I'm old enough to take care of myself," Ayla protested as she reached into one of her bags and pulled out a big bottle of whiskey that had been polished down to the middle. She opened the bottle and handed it to Spike, who took a large swag. "You brats today, always thinking that you're so mature." He handed the bottle back to an annoyed looking Ayla, who didn't hesitate to gulp down a few mouthfuls. She wanted to snap back at him, explain to him what it was like being a Slayer and how that forced her to make do with her Watcher as her only friend and also caused her to think of things in a more mature way, at least for a fifteen year old (which she was at the time of her calling.)

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><p><strong>AN:** I realized in the first chapter that I had my character say that she wasn't "from around there" despite being from New York, the state that Woodstock was held in, but look at it more like she didn't consider herself from the States. Oh, I'll be trying to post every two to three days but I might post a few days in a row for a while because I'm really into this story. :) Anyways, I hope you enjoyed!


	3. Peachy

For about an hour or so, they just sat there, drinking until the bottle was dried up and not a single drop of whiskey was left. The Who had finished playing and it looked like the concert was done for the night. "People trynaget us duhdudoooown," Ayla mumbled, her words running together a little more than she would have liked to admit. "So what are you doing here anyways? You look like you belong at a Pink Floyd or Deep Purple concert or something. Just not here, too rough around the edges," she said, trying her best to sound fairly coherent. Spike looked at her and cocked his head. "I will bloody well listen to whatever I want. No need to match the way I dress," he commented, causing Ayla to look down at her shoes in embarrassment.

"But you got it. I'm not really here for the music. I'm here to blow off steam, get a little drunk, have a little fun." The expression on his face went from slightly offended to melancholic. "And you, girlie? You don't dress like them flower girls and you go around, picking up strangers and taking them to your van," he said with a smirk that suggested something more… deviant. "I'm here for the music, mainly. I don't get many chances to unwind. But I have a strong sense of… sympathy, so I've spent most of my time trying to save people from freezing instead of enjoying the music." Again, she lied and Ayla hated lying.

"I think there are more things to worry about than people freezing, love."

_You wouldn't know half of it._ Ayla thought to herself, digging through her bag to pull out another bottle of whiskey, except this time, it was peach-flavored. She could feel Spike looking at her, eyeing her, as she opened the bottle and took a large sip. She didn't handle alcohol very well, so she was going to limit herself a little. But sitting with a stranger, drinking her troubles away, it was a temptation that Ayla really couldn't say no to. "Peach flavored whiskey?" Spike asked, bewildered, when he finally got the bottle in his hands. "A bloody nancy-boy drink this is." But he still gulped it down; taking more sips than Ayla had taken all night. By his side, the red-headed girl sniggered. "But it ain't no nancy-boy drink if a girl buys it, you know. Then it's perfectly acceptable. Plus, peaches are my favorite. Anything flavored with peaches or smelling like it is something I could never resist."

"I don't understand you women," Spike said after finishing the contents of the bottle and stuffing it in between a bag and the inside of the van. The alcohol was mixing with the remainder of the drugs in his blood and he couldn't bloody well contain himself, especially with the whole ordeal with Dru. Plus the girl wouldn't be alive by the time she would wake up the next day. "You string a bloke around and we follow you like puppies. We bloody well do anything for you, just about anything. Kill for you, fight for you…" Ayla was staring at Spike with a cocked eyebrow. How did he get to **that** after she talked about how much she adored peaches?

"And we take you out to dinner, to nice places and we do things for you. And next thing you know, you're running around with some wanker… feeding-" Spike stopped momentarily before looking at the girl with a sheepish expression on his face. "Eating out with another man. I mean, do we ever mean anything to you?" he questioned before allowing himself to fall back into the van.

"Sounds terrible." That was all she could say, at least all she could muster up the courage to say. Again, her bitterness of being a Slayer came up and she wanted to lecture him… Tell him how hard it really was to be her. She couldn't date and she definitely would never have a chance to be a backstabbing, cold-hearted bitch like the woman he was talking about. "You're bloody right it is. You women are monsters." Spike reached for the lighter, which had been laying around, and lit another cigarettes.

"Is that why you took the drugs and devoured my liquor? Because some woman decided to stab you in the back?"

"I didn't take the drugs on purpose it was-"

"An accident? Save that for someone with half a brain."

"See, this is what I'm talking about. I don't understand why you're mad about this."

"I'm not mad, just telling you that I'm not stupid."

"I never said you were!" Spike defended himself.

"Nobody takes drugs on accident," Ayla said, crossing her arms as if she was ending the squabble. Giving up, Spike rolled his eyes. Perhaps, before he drained her tomorrow morning, he could wake her up to explain how stupid she was being and how he actually did get high by accident. It didn't take him long to dismiss the idea though, it was stupid and pointless. Why did he need to explain himself to a snotty girl who happened to like whiskey and peaches?

Deciding to finally join Spike on the floor of the van, Ayla laid down. The ceiling of the van was painted pitch black and it had white flecks on them. Spike chuckled slightly to himself, wondering how pretentious this girl was and he couldn't help but wonder how many men she brought to her van. She didn't look promiscuous but she gave off this vibe… Loneliness and alcohol. Those two were a combination for someone who sought physical comfort in his opinion. Spike grinned- his job was made that much easier. He wouldn't have to work all his mojo to seduce her and have a little fun. She would, if he knew her type well enough, just give herself to him.

"Loneliness is a bitch," Spike said, hoping to reel her in. It couldn't be that hard. But there was no answer. Spike turned his head to look at the girl who seemed to be thinking rather deeply, with her mouth open as if she were preparing to say something. "I wouldn't really know. I've never been lonely. Not completely," she finally answered. Spike furrowed his brows, no, she must have been lying. He could feel it. There wasn't much sign of a happy life with friends and family. He knew it, he had to recognize it. It was his winning strategy.

"Everybody has been lonely, pet."

"I haven't. I mean, I've considered feeling lonely but then I think about all the people and I think that it's silly to be lonely. I might be alone but that's temporary. Soon enough I won't be lonely." It was blind optimism that Ayla practically forced upon herself and in no way did she actually believe in it, below the surface. "You're not alone, love," Spike had lifted himself up on his elbows and stared at Ayla intensely. She was a weird one, thinking that she could avoid feeling lonely or avoid any sorts of feelings. It was dumb and Spike knew it- sometimes he had been tempted to act as if he didn't feel, but even as a vampire he couldn't deny that feelings… had a tendency to linger no matter how hard you tried to deny them.

"Yeah I am. You're here, but you're still not here. You're thinking of that woman, the one who betrayed you. That's fine, you're lonely even with me here," Ayla said, surprising Spike with her insightfulness. She had seemed to be of a duffer to him all night, blindly taking care of him without knowing what he was and being the world's most annoying optimistic. But she had more to her character, there were layers and he was beginning to feel that the simple, optimistic layer was there to cover up something. _Shit_. He thought as he figured out that he was really starting to get interested by this girl. She was supposed to be food and shelter, not a bloody therapist.

So he didn't waste any more time. He leapt in and took her by surprise by pressing his lips, oddly cool lips, on hers. Oh, it had been ages since Ayla had been kissed, not since she had a boyfriend, back when she was first called as a Slayer. But this kiss, it was different than those ones had been. He pressed hard against her and it almost felt like he was attacking her with his mouth. There wasn't tenderness. The kiss was bitter and stank of loneliness. But it wasn't just him, she was bitter too. This was the kind of thing she hardly ever did because of her duties and the "moral" of it, according to her Watcher. Slayers weren't meant to have love lives, or even sex lives for that.

Frustrated with that thought, Ayla flung herself so that she was sitting on top of Spike and they continued, furiously. They attacked each other like predators attacking their prey. It wasn't exactly violent, at least not physically, but emotionally they were both aggressive. "Privacy," Ayla said, breaking the kiss and jumping off of Spike to close the back door of the van. She turned around to see him with a smug look on his face, as if he would have preferred for other people to see them indulging themselves in loneliness. But then he pulled her towards himself and before long, Ayla's shirt had been pulled off.

There was a temptation that Spike faced; a temptation to say something. He wanted to tell her that her breasts were the most perfectly shaped breasts he had ever seen. He yearned to explore every inch of her body and stare at the freckles which covered a large portion of her body. Like constellations they were, so many and some so small. He could have told her that she was a map to the stars. But that wasn't why he was with her, not for love or being sentimental. It was just sex and feed. Animal instincts.

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><p><strong>An: **I thought about writing a raunchy sex scene, but decided against it- for now. Hope you enjoy reading this!


	4. Free

Morning. Spike couldn't see sunlight, thankfully, but he could tell from his body that the day had begun and he should stay in. He looked at the redhead, sleeping peacefully by his side, her body covered mostly by a blanket. Oh, she was something else. Dru loved the pain and the torture and all that sick and sadistic shit and while it could be fun, it wasn't what Spike wanted. This girl was rough but there was still some sort of emotion in it. Be it loneliness, tenderness or a crush, Spike didn't give a damn. It was enough to be better than anything he had had as of recently and enough to drive him bloody mad while they were at it. Sex with a human wasn't so bad after all.

"And now for the main show," he said, leaning over to examine her neck. Her skin looked smooth and, as he had found out last night, it was soft as silk. He couldn't wait to sink his fangs into her, taste her blood, slowly draining her. If it was anything like the sex, he wouldn't need any more for days. As he went vamp face and moved around so he could get to her neck better, he bumped his foot into one of her bags, only to hear the sound of wood hitting against each other. Mildly curious, he decided that the girl could wait. She wouldn't be hard to control if he waited just a few minutes. Even if she did wake up, she would be groggy and worn out.

"Sodding…" he mumbled as he opened the bag he had bumped into. There were stakes, twenty at least, knives and axes. He looked back at the girl, his face going normal once more. "Bloody hell, I just fucked a sodding Slayer!" The girl stirred when he said that but she didn't seem to wake up. If Spike had a heart, it would be beating hard enough to burst through his chest. This was not at all what he wanted. He didn't even know that a Slayer would be at Woodstock. They were supposed to be stuck-up girls who only fought and killed demons. She had not once shown any sign of violence, in fact, she had been so peaceful that still he doubted the fact that she was what her baggage indicated she was. But if she was a Slayer. "Fuck," Spike muttered as he put on his jeans. He couldn't bite her now. It wouldn't be hard for him to win, but there was always the possibility that she might wake up and fight back. The van didn't leave much space for fighting and if he would get out of the van… She would win.

Then it occurred to him. She had been trying to save him, drugged up and such, from being eaten by vampires. He chuckled at the irony, a Slayer saving a vampire from… a vampire. "You duffer," he said as he leaned in towards her, looking as if he was being pulled by some sort of force. The sixties didn't just affect the humans then. The peace, love and all that cozy bullshit had gotten to the Slayer. Feeling particularly enticed, Spike leaned in and let his lips touch her neck. "Soddin' hell…" he mumbled, taking in the sweet scent. He could smell her blood pumping through her veins and he could smell peaches too. Such a sickly sweet smell she bore.

"You're still here?" he could hear her mumble, her voice raspy. He pulled his head away, looking at her as she turned her head to face him. She had soft features and a peaceful melancholic shine in her eye. The one Slayer he had come face-to-face with properly hadn't been like that at all. She had taken things far more seriously than needed. "Well, I can't just pop out and leave when you tried to pull a knight-in-shining armor on me last night, now could I, love?" Ayla tittered, sensing that something was different from last night. He didn't feel as candid as he had been the last night. But she shrugged it off; perhaps it was the drugs and the alcohol that had made him all loopy.

"You could have, there's nothing stopping you." _The sodding sun._ "I once helped a man back last year and he stole my tent. Knew better this time around to have something less… portable." Spike and Ayla both laughed in unison. Ayla because she was genuinely amused by the events that had transpired and Spike because… He didn't want to arouse any suspicion. "But then, I would have allowed you to stay in the van alone, but I just didn't feel like helping more people… So you were an excuse to stay around and slack off for a while."

Spike cocked a brow. A Slayer, not willing to do her duty? That was a first. "Slack off from what? I thought you came here for the music," Spike inquired, wanting to know what lie she would tell him to cover up her Slayer duties. Ayla looked at him, the corners of her mouth turned down in a small frown. "Changing the world. You know what all this Woodstock thing is about. Stopping the violence, loving thy neighbor and that entire jigger." Spike couldn't help but start laughing at her words. She was "slacking off" in "changing the world" and she referred to it as "jigger." "You know, for someone so dedicated to changing the world, you sound very indifferent to it," he admitted through the laughter.

"Can it." Despite the scowling, Ayla hit Spike lightly.

"It doesn't even sound like you want to do it, pet."

"Nobody really wants to. But someone has to do it,"

"You could just say no," he suggested but received a roll of the eyes from the girl.

"It's not that simple… It's sort of like a family business. You don't just say no. You just suck it up and do the dirty work that no one wants to. If I didn't do it, who would? What kind of person would I be if I turned my back to…? Doing good?" she asked with a sullen look on her face. "You'd be free, that's what you would be. Look at me, I don't go by anybody's rules and I'm free as a fucking bird," Spike said with a look of determination on his face. He didn't like it, but he was starting to feel sorry for the girl. She had this life of slaying thrust upon herself and she wasn't allowed to deny it. "Tweet, tweet," he said, folding his arms and wriggling them like a bird would flap their wings. Ayla let a half-hearted chuckle.

"But you're not free."

Spike blinked twice. "What do you know about that? You don't bloody know me. I'm free as a bird," he answered defensively. He watched as a knowing smile appeared on the girl's lips. "But you're bound to that woman. You're her prisoner. You might be free in what you do, but she has you in metaphorical shackles. Keeping you from breaking free of her." Spike frowned when she said those words. "If I were free, would I do this to you?" he challenged as he turned Ayla so that she was on her back and he pulled the blanket away.

He cupped her breasts in his hand and began kneading softly. Looking into the redhead's eyes he lowered his head and gently nibbled on her nipples until both of them were stiff with excitement. Her gray eyes stared at him back and he felt as if he could still see some doubt in her eyes. "If that doesn't convince you, pet," he mumbled as he lowered down, kissing her from her breasts and down towards her pelvis. He stopped when he got down to where the treasure was hidden. _Open up_. He thought as he used his hands to spread her legs so that he could see her area properly. Oh, it was a nice pink color. "Perfect," he muttered, sort of hoping to convince her that he wasn't bound by anyone. Not even Dru.

He gently stuck a finger into her and he smirked when she arched her body, unable to control the excitement. She had never been treated like this before, it had always been simply sex but now she was actually receiving attention from someone. Wriggling around into a better position, Spike once again bumped his foot into her bad, the one with her Slayer equipment and then he realized- she wasn't fragile as human women. He didn't need to be sweet and soft to her. So he stuck two fingers in and wriggled them a bit until she convulsed. He had found that spot. With his thumb he rubbed her clit in circles, going slowly so that she could work up some excitement.

"Oh god," he could hear her moan.

"You like that, pet? No one ever treated you this way before?" he asked, leaning in for a taste.

"Never. Oh god, never been touched this way before," her voice was a mere whisper but with his vampire hearing it sounded as clear as ever. He pulled away and drew out his fingers. "It's a shame really, a girl like you could really use some good petting," he said, positioning himself so that he was at her level again. Ayla looked at him, longing for more but not wanting to ask him for it. He grinned, knowing what the look on her face meant. "You're going to have to beg for it," he said with a cocky tone in his voice. She tittered nervously, but didn't say a word. "I guess not then. Got any more alcohol, love?" he asked, looking around the van. She nodded before sitting up and reaching behind one of the stack of books she had. Another bottle of peach whiskey, she really did like that stuff. Without a sound Spike accepted the bottle, opened it and downed a few sips. He handed her the bottle and she did the same.

"Wait a second," Spike said, suddenly aware of a rather odd tingly feeling. "Wait, pet, mind checkin-"

Before he could finish his sentence, the doors of the van were torn open.

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><p><strong>AN:** I was going to finish up this part of the story in this chapter but then I needed some translation done... So you're going to have to wait for the end of this until I get the translation!


	5. Rue

Outside it was mildly dark, of course, the rainclouds that had been making Woodstock more_ interesting_ were blocking out the sun. It would have been safe for him to go out. And in front of him stood a calm woman with a rather, odd look in her eye. "Dru," Spike said, making his way towards her. "What are you doing here?" From the look on his face, Ayla could tell that she was the woman he had been talking about. She could literally see it in the way his eyes seemed to fill with guilt and how the corners of his mouth had turned up. Yes, this was the woman he loved. Oh, and there was no doubt in Ayla's mind what this woman was.

Ayla quickly flung herself over to her bag and pulled out a stake made of oak and a dagger. She hadn't mastered having weapons in two hands but she needed it now more than ever. "You've been playing with someone else," the woman said, her voice distant. Realizing that she was still naked, Ayla threw on the first shirt she could grab and the pair of shorts she had been wearing the night before. Spike casually slid out of the van and back off with the woman. "You don't want to do this Slayer. I'm more than willing to kill you," Spike said, the cockiness obvious in his voice. "And I'm more than capable of killing you," Ayla said, jumping out of the van.

"Kill her Spike, drain her. You know what that Slayers blood does to us," Drusilla egged him on.

"Can it, bitch." Ayla said with a sneer. She saw how Spike's expression seemed to contain more fury after she had called his _lover_ a bitch. She was pushing his buttons on purpose, hoping to lead him into a blind rage. "She's not a bitch!" Spike said, charging towards Ayla. He swung his fist, putting all his weight into the swing but Ayla swiftly avoided the blow. "Are you sure? You made her sound like a bleeding whore last night." He managed to kick her in the back, causing her to stumble forward a few steps. "Kicks from the back? Somebody's a little upset. Afraid she'll be mad after hearing about all the things you said about her?"

"Not a sodding whore or a bitch. That's you, Slayer," Spike said, reaching into the bag in the van and pulling out a long sword. "I see you like the classics, I appreciate that," he said, keeping a firm grip on the handle. He felt like he had an advantage, since all she had was a bloody dagger and a stake. The further he could slash her, the better. But he didn't like how jolly she seemed about this. For someone who hated being a Slayer, she seemed to enjoy the fighting bit far more than a normal person would. Her dull, gray eyes seemed to shine to the point where they appeared to be silver and, perhaps it was the lust for blood, but Spike could have sworn that her hair seemed redder.

And then the real fun began. He began swinging the long sword at her with obvious expertise. It felt like he had tried a hundred blows to every part of her body, but somehow she had managed to avoid them all. Eighteen, that must have given her a few years as a Slayer which meant that her skills were alright, but he figured they would pale in comparison to his. And yet she fought as if she was dancing. As if fighting were an art form. The Slayer in China had taken things seriously and it had been all business but Ayla was free when it came to fighting, even if Slayer duties tied her down.

And then after what seemed like eons of fighting, she managed to pin him up towards the side of her van. How did this happen? He thought he had this one done in. Complete. "You know Slayer, this will go down in Slayer history. You, sleeping with a vamp, you'll be the shame of the line," Spike said as she held the dagger to his neck and the stake to his heart. "I don't care if they shame me. I don't give a damn what anyone says or thinks." Spike laughed, watching Dru from the corner of his eye. She was coming in closer, in a very relaxed manner.

"Oh, but you'll feel it. And you can't stand feeling alone, can you, Slayer? I knew you lied to me, saying you didn't feel lonely. You're all alone, being the Chosen One. You can't love or have your own life and that makes you sad. How do you think having the council turn their back on you will feel? It'll cut you, inside out and you will wish that you had never tried to save me last night."

Angry at Spike, Ayla took the stake away from his heard and stabbed him with the knife in the stomach, and she twisted it around before pulling it out. "Bloody hell woman!" Spike shouted as he jumped her, ignoring the pain he was feeling from the knife wound. "You know Spike," she began, panting as they fought to keep each other down. "Come on Spike! We have to leave soon," Drusilla's voice sounded from behind them. Little help she was, Spike thought to himself bitterly.

_"Is diabhal le mothúcháin mé, díreach cosúil leatsa. Ach murab ionann agus tú féin, glacaim le mo sheaicilí. Ligeann tusa ort nach chíonn tú iad."_

"What the fuck are you saying, Slayer? I don't understand… Whatever that is," Spike complained as he finally managed to get on top. She held the stake close to his hard and he was struggling to flip it at least the other way. "The truth, but you don't want to hear it." Oh, he could feel it, he was about to get her.

The stake flipped! And with all his might, Spike pushed down, the stake landing somewhere in her left sight, right under that perfectly rounded… No, he couldn't think about this now. He could see her eyes fill with tears because of the pain but she didn't let them fall. He could hear a loud rumbling in the sky, it was about to rain. "Come on Spike, we have to get going," he felt a familiar tugging at his hair. He looked up and smiled at Dru. "Don't you want to taste the Slayer, pet? Can't you smell how delicious she must be?" he offered, standing up to be closer to Drusilla's level. "They are coming Spike, the stars are a blazing," she said. Spike looked down at the Slayer, realizing that she had been wearing his shirt during the fight and now it was stained with her blood. "I liked that shirt," he mumbled as he allowed himself to be pulled away with Dru. If anyone knew when to leave, it was Dru.

He took one last look at the Slayer, who was laying there on the ground, clutching the stake she had lodged in her stomach. And he thought about the freckles on her body, a map to the stars, and how she thought of Slayer-duties as shackles. "I'm sorry, pet, I was just angry," he mumbled to Dru before putting his arm on her shoulders, both as a sign of affection and to support himself, seeing that the stab wound he had wasn't healing as fast as he would have like.

* * *

><p>Spike waltzed into the Magic Box, in hopes of finding the Scoobies doing some sort of research. He didn't like to admit it but he had grown rather fond of them and spending time with them meant more time with Buffy, and the more time he spent with her the better. Given, they could sometimes be annoying, Xander in particular but he was willing to deal with that. But that night, much to his dismay, nobody except for Anya and Giles seemed to be present. "Spike! What are you doing here at this time?" Giles said, looking up from the purchase logs he had been going over with Anya. "Creature of the night, remember?" Spike said, throwing his arms up before taking a seat at the table the Scoobies were occupying most of their time in the shop.<p>

"Then what do you want from us? It's not the money, is it? Because you can't have it!" Anya asked, clinging to the cash register. "I don't want sodding money," Spike said, throwing his feet upon the table. Giles lifted up his hand and opened his mouth as if he was going to protest but he quickly shut. "Didn't think so," Spike mumbled, looking around the place. There were a lot of useful things, things he could use if the time ever called for it, but he had to it would be good to know where he could find things. But he cocked his head to the side and looked at Giles. "Watcher, you're good with translations and languages and all that jigger?" he inquired.

"Why, yes. I do have certain strengths in that area… Do you have anything you need translated?" Giles said, leaving the counter and coming closer towards Spike and Anya, filled with curiosity, followed him. Spike took his feet off of the table and pulled out a napkin. "Well yeah. I mean… This. I don't understand one word of it," he said, unfolding the napkin. On it, scribbled with a neat handwriting, was a few sentences.

_Is diabhal le mothúcháin mé, díreach cosúil leatsa. Ach murab ionann agus tú féin, glacaim le mo sheaicilí. Ligeann tusa ort nach chíonn tú iad._

"Looks like Irish to me. Where did you find this, Spike?" Giles said, rummaging behind the counter, looking for what Spike presumed to be a dictionary. Spike leaned back and shrugged. "Got it from some demon down at Willy's." He honestly didn't feel like going into the details, at least not until he got the meaning. Giles sat down by the table and took the note and began deciphering. "What did the demon look like, the one you were talking to?" Anya inquired. Ah yes, of course, ex-demon, she would obviously have a strong interest in what kind of demon this was. "Normal looking bloke for the most part, except when he got around to talking about what he does, then his skin turned all scaly and blue. Was pretty depressing, really," Spike admitted. It was weird, as soon as he got around to the part where Ayla had met Spike, his skin had begun to change and it stayed that way throughout the story. "Oh, sounds like you were dealing with a rue demon!" Anya said with a rather excited tone. When she received glances from both Giles and Spike she sighed.

"They're like... vengeance demons but they take of regrets rather than vengeance… And they kill the one with the regret, rather than harming the one who harmed the regretee," Anya said, explaining matters in a rather incomprehensible way. Mulling in this new information, what the demon had told him made sense, to some degree. But that must have meant that there was something that Ayla had regretted so much that a rue demon would show up and take her life. "Does it make it better for the person regretting?" Spike asked, his brows raised with curiosity. Anya nodded. "Definitely, the rue demons never appear unless it's obvious that the person would be better off dead. Some say-"

"Ah! I've got it. Never been too handy with Irish, but I've managed to translate it rather nicely. It reads something like: _I am just like you, a monster with feelings. But I embrace my shackles. You pretend that you don't see them._" Giles laid the napkin down and looked at Spike expectantly but Spike seemed to be rather shocked by hearing those words. "It seems like the two of you had some deep conversations," Anya commented. Spike looked at her with furrowed brows. "It's not his words… exactly."

"Well, whose words is it then?" Giles asked, curious about who would say such a thing and why a demon had handed Spike a note with that on it. Spike sighed, deciding that it wouldn't be too bad to tell them this. They already knew that he had killed two Slayers, would telling them about a third he had fought be so bad?

"Look, I was there at Willy's, taking a few drinks when this bloody demon sat down next to me. Said he remembered me. Didn't know what the bugger was talking about but then he said he had killed Ayla Darrow and that he saw me there, in her memories," Spike begun but was interrupted by both Giles and Anya interfering.

"A memory, the regret," Anya corrected, making Spike frown slightly.

"Ayla Darrow, the Slayer that disappeared?" Giles asked. Now that caught both Spike and Anya's attention. "Disappeared? Giles, rue demons' victims die usually in their bed, not hard to find the body," Anya said with a roll of her eyes, as if it were obvious. "But I distinctly remembering hearing about her. She disappeared in October, 1969, after having neglected her Slayer duties for a couple of months. They couldn't find a trace of her and they gave up once they found the new Slayer," Giles said with a look that told both Anya and Spike that he knew what he was talking about.

"Well the only time the body would ever disappear is if he would make her one of them, but they hardly ever do that, nobody regrets enough," Anya said, dismissing the idea, but Giles looked at Spike. "What did you do Spike to make her regret something so much? You made a Slayer into a bloody demon!" Spike scowled at Giles' reaction and stood up. "I have had enough of this crap, I don't have to excuse myself to you or anyone," he said as he began to walk out. "No, tell us so we can bloody well make sure you don't do the same thing to Buffy," Giles said, standing up as well. Spike turned around and looked at Giles sharply.

"That's impossible Watcher, do you know why? Me and Ayla, we didn't know what the other was and we had one night of steaming passion. Oh it was incredible, but she didn't know what I was until the day after. And you know what? She was different than Buffy, she was lonely to the bones, I could smell it miles away. Easy target, that one. Buffy knows what I am and she has you lot. Why would she ever need me for comfort?" Spike asked, revealing one of his own fears. Buffy would never be with him. At least Ayla had related to him in some manner. A monster with feelings. But he hadn't admitted to his shackles then, the ones that bound his feelings to someone but now he saw them clearly, admitted them without a doubt.

Giles seemed to be taken aback by Spike's words but it didn't seem to bother Anya, in fact, she seemed to be thinking hard about something. There was a certain weight lifted off of Spike's chest, both admitting to himself that Buffy wouldn't turn out the same as Ayla and the fact that Ayla was still alive. He hadn't driven her to death, simply to demon-hood. "Does she have red-hair?" Anya asked. Spike nodded slowly. "I told you, vengeance demons and rue demons often work closely. I met her back in the Seventies. Some girl wished disaster on her ex's family and her ex regretted wronging her so she took care of him. Of course, after I did my job, but she's a nice girl," Anya said with a shrug.

"Well… we must find her! A former-Slayer demon? It's never been heard of!" Giles muttered, intrigued by the Slayer's fate. "Well, do it when I'm not here, why don't you? I'm sure that bint will try to do me in if she saw me," Spike said, walking out of the Magic Box. Bloody brilliant he was, going to Giles. Of course there was going to be some catch, or some racket.

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><p><strong>An:** The Irish was translated by a friend of mine, and she did it as well as possible. if it's incorrect, then so be it, my character is no master as Irish. ;D Oh, I'm not sure if I should continue this or just end it... I will definitely continue writing this for my own sake, because I do like Ayla a lot and see her as a demon could be fun, at least what I made her be like. But we'll see. Just let me know if you're interested in reading more or whether I should end this or if I should end this one and start a sequel for those who actually care. ;D Your call guys. Sort of. For now.


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